


Fireflies Coda

by littlelostcat



Series: This Might Help [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fireflies coda, Gen, M/M, Pre-Romance, this might help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:05:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostcat/pseuds/littlelostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles reaches his breaking point, when he gets home he finds Derek in his bed.  Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireflies Coda

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the This Might Help challenge.
> 
> All mistakes my own.

Stiles was done. He was 100% done with today. He could still feel Heather’s hair between his fingers; her too-cold skin under his hands. The metal slab shining too bright, the sheet too white. He barely remembered leaving the hospital; he remembered driving by Lydia’s to make sure the lights were off, then sitting idle in his driveway. He pushed the door open and leaned against it. He sucked in a breath and dropped his bag at the bottom of the stairs; draped his jacket over the banister at the top of the stairs and left it swinging. 

They smelled like the hospital and morgue. Everything smelled like the hospital and morgue.

By the time he reached his room his was panting, hard and painful breaths that racked his chest and ribs. He slammed his door shut and felt the wood shake, he focused on it. On the smooth wood, on the cool wood. He pounded his fist once, and felt it shake. He slammed his fist again, then once more. He focused on the pain. He dropped his head against the door, let his hands fall to his sides, and tried to blink away the tears that prickled the corner of his eyes. 

“Stop,” he whispered, his voice catching. “Stop. Stop. _Just stop_.”

He breathed in through his mouth, then out through his nose. His mind raced and his stomach tightened, he couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears. He breathed slowly. All he could think about was Heather, and her mom. Of when they were kids, of her party. Of their moms drinking coffee, of sandcastles in the back yard. He hissed the breath out, then tried again. Slowly. 

He could pack two bags, one for him and one for his dad. They could be in Oregon by midnight. He could leave it behind. He turned, let his head fall back and opened his eyes to the dark room. They could --

He stopped. He stared at the lump on his bed, watched the bright red eyes stare back at him. Then he deflated, let his shoulders sag and his fingers hang loose at his side. 

“You know,” he sniffed and straightened, “if you keep showing up like this, I’m gonna start charging.”

He walked the short distance to his bed and waited, wasn’t sure if he actually expected an answer or silence. He kicked his shoes off; then lay down when Derek inched to the side. Stiles settled on his back, crossed his hands over his stomach and waited. Yes, Stiles Stilinski could wait out a conversation. Even one with Derek Hale, the king of drawn out silences.

“I heard about your friend,” Derek said after a few minutes.

Stiles nodded, a single jerk of his head, then he whispered, “I heard you met our teacher.”  
Derek turned his head to the side, his leg knocking Stiles’s then resting. Stiles closed his eyes; he nudged back and let his knee press against Derek’s. When he rolled on his side, Derek was still staring at him. 

“Why do you do it?”

“Because some one has to,” he sighed, “People are dying. And I can help.”

Stiles turned away, rolled until his back faced Derek. Then when Derek shifted, draped his arm over Stiles’s waist, Stiles pressed back. He let the warmth and security cover him, then lay his arm over Derek’s and looked down as he linked their fingers. “I wasn’t kidding about the charging you thing. My bed’s too small for this. And we don’t even like each other.”

Derek slid his other arm under Stiles’s waist and Stiles grunted in response, but kept their hands pressed together as he settled back. Derek pressed closer and his breath puffed over Stiles’s ear, “I’m good for it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “That’s what all the werewolves say.”

When Derek puffed another breath against Stiles’s neck, maybe a laugh, Stiles bit back the shiver and slid his leg between Derek’s. Something loosened in his chest when Derek’s leg slid over his. When Derek lightly ran his lips across the base of Stiles’s neck, Stiles smiled weakly.

“It’ll be okay, right? We’ll find the thing that’s killing people? And Deucalion?”

He lay silent, heard the shift of cloth as Derek pulled him even closer. He closed his eyes and the exhaustion of the day began to pull at him. He almost missed it when Derek whispered against his skin.


End file.
